Incomprehensible
by Rory Carlisle
Summary: WARNING spoilers from the 7th book. George Weasley has lost everything. Drunken and agonized, he falls into a deep depression. Can a certain someone help him regain a shred of his former self? Crosses over with the last few chapters of Deathly Hallows.
1. Prologue

-1Prologue

George Weasley was wondering where in the damned world Fred was. He was usually no more than a few feet away from his twin, and now he hadn't seen him for almost half an hour.

The sounds of dueling and crashes echoed down the badly-lit hallway and George was reminded that the castle was still under siege. He raced down the hall to find Lupin and his wife Tonks fighting against Rodolphus Lestrange, Neville Longbottom at their side.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Lupin roared, and a jet of red light shot out of his wand, knocking Lestrange's wand out of his hand. Looking mutinous, the Death Eater dived to catch it, but then there was another cry, from someone hidden among the shadows.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Lupin dived, throwing his arms around Tonks. The jet of green light caught him right in the middle of his back. For a moment, it seemed as if he was just standing there, his arms protectively blocking his wife. Then Tonks screamed and Lupin was falling, falling down until he landed in a crumpled heap on the castle floor. George saw the shadowy figure running away and recognized the slight form of Yaxley.

George stared in horror at the fallen form of Lupin. No, it couldn't be true. Lupin was not supposed to die. That wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. He heard Tonks's shrieks of agony and heard her crying desperately _"NO, Remus, no, no, no…" _

Behind them, Rodolphus had gained control of his wand. He raised it and opened his mouth to speak, but George ran forward and shouted _"STUPEFY!" _

Rodolphus was lifted off of his feet and slammed into the back wall. George ran forward and crouched next to Tonks. White-faced, Neville looked down at them, his chest heaving.

"No, Remus, no…" Tonks sobbed, clutching Lupin's lifeless hand. "No!"

George laid a hand on her trembling shoulder, tears of his own threatening to appear. "Tonks," he said softly. "Tonks, we have to go. We'll take his…him to the Great Hall. Come on, Tonks."

She didn't seem to want to move. George motioned to Neville, and the two of them gently, but firmly pulled Tonks away. She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, crying softly into her arms. George reached down to grab Lupin.

There was a deafening crash and suddenly chunks of plaster and molding were raining down on them. There was no time to do anything. George let out a yell and ducked, covering his head with his hands. Bits of rock and wood sliced into his arms through his robes and one particularly jagged piece of frame left a deep gash in his cheek.

After a few moments, it stopped. George was buried in a pile of wreckage that had once been a corridor in the school. He tried to sit up, but there was something digging into his leg. Twisting around, he saw that it was an enormous, heavy-framed painting. He pushed at it, but it wouldn't budge.

"George!"  
Neville's voice was somewhere, lost in the fog of dust and grime. George coughed and waved a hand. "Here, I'm over here, Neville. But I'm stuck."

There was a scuffling noise and then Neville appeared. His old cuts had started reopening and there was blood dripping down the side of his face.

"George…" he gasped. He tugged at the painting, and between the two of them, they were able to wrench it off. George moved his leg gingerly, testing it out, then stood up, wincing. "Where is Tonks?" he asked.

"I don't know." Neville pointed into the dense cloud of smoke and ashes. "I think over there."

They stumbled through the semi-darkness until Neville tripped over something lying on the ground.

"Ouch!" he said, looking down. His face drained of any color it once had. "Oh…"

George felt as if his chest were on fire. He was looking down into the pale, unblinking eyes of Lupin. And, lying on top of him was Tonks, her eyes half open, her gaze staring off into some place they could not see.

He dropped to his knees beside them. "No," he said hoarsely. "Not Tonks too. No."

Tonks's form was lying in a way that George guessed that she had thrown herself across Lupin protectively at the explosion. He touched her cool hand and then, with a groan, leaned down and picked her up. Her limp body was surprisingly light in his arms.

"Can you take Lupin?" George asked Neville.

"I think so…" Neville reached down and grasped Lupin under his arms and started pulling.

They weren't far from the Great Hall. George stumbled against the heavy wooden doors and nearly collapsed when they opened quite suddenly. "Help," he called in a rough voice. "Somebody."

There was a flurry of activity and George felt Tonks lifted out of his arms. "Oh, no…" he heard Professor McGonagall gasp and then "George!"

"Lupin…is here too…" he managed to say. "Have you seen Fred?"

Professor McGonagall looked up at him, and her dark eyes swam with tears. George felt a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Professor," he said again, with more feeling. "_Where is Fred?"_

She gave a sob and pointed across the hall. "Oh, George…I'm so sorry."

George looked around. Far off, in the corner of the Great Hall, he could make out a red-headed woman. She was screaming.

"NO, FRED, NO! NOT MY SON!" Molly Weasley was being held by Arthur, who seemed to be in the same state as his wife. He clutched her to his chest and stared down at a at the floor, tears running down his dirt-smudged cheeks. A body lay on the floor; the body of an undeniably familiar, red-headed young man…

George's world seemed to dim and he could only focus on the body. Without knowing it, he started off across the floor and then, as his desperation grew, he broke out into a run until he arrived, panting, where his family stood.

His mother turned to him, her face contorted with pain. "Oh, George." she whispered. "George…"

He didn't seem to hear her. All he could see was the body on the floor. The body of his twin brother. Fred's body.

Fred's eyes were closed as if he were sleeping, and his mouth was turned up just the slightest bit, as if he were dreaming of something wonderful. George felt that burning sensation in his chest again and he dropped to his knees beside Fred's head. He couldn't seem to make out any words except one. "Fred."

There was a dreadful, howling noise. A high-pitched keening, as if the world had just collapsed. And for George, it had. He realized with a jolt, that he was making the noises. He let out a deafening roar of fury and devastation and then collapsed, sobbing. He touched the top of Fred's head gently, brushing away some stray locks of red hair that had fallen across his face. No. It couldn't be true. It _wasn't _true. Fred was not lying dead here in front of him. Fred was supposed to be alive, happy, laughing at something George had said, making up riddles as they filled out another order form for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Fred was _not _dead, no, no, no…

He felt as if part of his soul had been ripped away. The pain in his chest was so great that he was gasping. He remembered the look on Fred's face when he had opened his eyes after being injured by Snape and seen the look of absolute disbelief and horror in his twin's eyes. Now he knew, to an extent, what Fred had been feeling.

There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, and George raised his head to meet Percy's stricken, tear-stained face. "George, I…" he said, looking as if he was trying to think of something to say.

George grabbed hold of Percy's arm and yanked him down, turning his face to his shoulder and crying into him. Percy's arm was shaking as he put an arm around his brother's shoulders. At the moment, George didn't care who saw him. All he knew was that his entire world had suddenly been taken away from him in one fell swoop. The agony in his head and his heart seemed to split his soul in two.

"I'm so sorry." Percy whispered. "He was…protecting me. He jumped in front of me when the corridor exploded and pushed me to the ground. If it hadn't been for me…"

"It is NOT your fault, Percy." Mrs. Weasley said sharply. She was still standing beside them. "Fred was…"

She seemed to lose all energy then, and collapsed next to Fred, putting her arms around his still body and sobbing into his chest. "Oh, Fred…Fred, Fred…_no, Fred, not my son!"_

Pain ripped through George as cleanly and sharply as though a knife had just been plunged into him. He couldn't seem to stop the tears from coming, and now his breath was labored, coming out in short gasps. He found it hard to draw in air.

"He's having a panic attack!" Percy yelled, and instantly Madam Pomfrey was beside them, kneeling next to George.

"Breathe now…" she whispered softly, touching his shoulder. "Breathe deeply, that's it, good…" Her warm voice was oddly comforting to George, who tried to focus on getting air in his lungs. He breathed in and out slowly, until he was calm again.

"Good boy." Madam Pomfrey patted him on the back and then disappeared as more wounded were brought in. George once again buried his face in his hands and cried.

Then, suddenly, a cold, high voice spoke. It was as if the voice was coming from everywhere at once and George's head reeled.

Voldemort's dreadful voice spoke of Harry Potter's death. He had brought the body for them to see the truth, and that they were now all under his control.

The silence in the Great Hall was deafening, rigid with shock and terror. Then, all at once, there was a thundering of footsteps and cries as people raced towards the door, desperate to see that what they had heard was not true.

George sat for a moment, not moving, not believing that this could have happened. First Fred, now Harry…

A rage filled him as no other anger had, white-hot and blinding. He stood, clutching his wand tightly in his hand and ran from the room, ignoring his family's shouts echoing after him. He paid no heed to them, but instead moved with an undeterrable speed, pushing aside people until he found Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, their faces ashen, near the front. He grasped Ron's arm and the four of them moved forward. They heard Professor McGonagall's terrible scream of fury and anguish, and then, as they suddenly stumbled forward out of the crowd, saw the limp, unmoving form of Harry Potter lying at Voldemort's feet.

"No!" Ron gasped, his face going slack. _"No!"_

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. "HARRY!"  
Ginny let out a horrible scream of pain and yelled _"HARRY!"_

The pain in their voices was terrible to hear. George closed his eyes and thought of Fred; thought of Fred, lying peacefully in the Great Hall, not knowing that his parents were lying next to him, their tears mingling with his hair, not knowing that his twin brother stood, facing the most evil wizard in the world, not knowing the pain that George was in. Fred, his favorite person in the world, was dead. The only person that had ever understood him, the only person that had always been there for him, was dead.

George opened his eyes and saw Neville with his head on fire, or so it seemed. Then, with screams and shouts, herds upon herds of centaurs began pouring out of the Great Forest, arrows flying everywhere, and there were hundreds of people running down the grounds and Neville suddenly had a sword and had cut off Voldemort's snake's head. There were shrieks and jets of light were shooting everywhere. It was chaos. The hoards of people at the doors in the entrance hallway were forced back as the Death Eaters were pushed inside the castle by the centaurs and giants. George caught sight of Rodolphus Lestrange and lunged for him.

"STUPEFY!" He roared, an odd rushing in his ears. The horrible fury that had filled him earlier returned with a vengeance. Rodolphus dodged the blow, shooting a jet of green light his direction. George ducked out of the way and shot another Stunning spell at Lestrange. This time the spell hit its mark, and Rodolphus, eyes wide, collapsed onto the stone floor.

George leapt over him as he was forced back into the Great Hall. It seemed as if there were spells everywhere, shouts and screams and yells reverberating throughout the spacious room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowing silver orb drop onto Fenrir Greyback's form, and the wolf moved no more. He heard Professor Trelawney's shout of glee and then, far off, he saw his mother and father pulling Fred, Lupin, and Tonks's bodies to safety.

Then there was a resounding crash and the hundreds of house-elves of Hogwarts were suddenly milling into the Great Hall, brandishing knives and swinging meat cleavers. George saw Sirius's old elf, Kreacher, at the front of the elves, yelling about fighting against the Dark Lord.

Suddenly he caught sight of his other best friend, Lee Jordan, dueling with the man called Yaxley, the one who had killed Lupin. George raced across the hall and shot a Stunning spell at the man, but he dodged out of the way.

"George!" Lee yelled, looking shocked.

Together they began shooting spells at Yaxley, who's blunt face was rigid with anger. _"CRU-"_

_"STUPEFY!" _George and Lee roared simultaneously, and Yaxley was thrown off his feet and slammed into the ground, where he moved no more.

"George, where's Fred?" gasped Lee, holding onto his side as if it hurt.

George felt a stabbing pain in his chest again. "He's dead."

Lee's face drained of color. "No." he whispered, looking horrified. "No, not Fred!"

There was a bang, and George looked up to see Bellatrix Lestrange shooting spells at Ginny, then heard his mother's roar of fury and then saw, with a jolt, Bellatrix falter in her steps, look up with a look of surprise and anger, and then crumple lifelessly to the ground.

Voldemort let out a terrible scream and George watched in horror as the Dark Lord turned to his mother. He started forward, but all of a sudden someone yelled "_PROTEGO!" _and the Shield Charm erupted between Voldemort and Molly Weasley.

George looked around to see who had cast the spell, and saw Harry appear out of nowhere. A relief filled his chest, along with a stunned feeling that Harry was still alive.

The Great Hall was suddenly thrown into silence. George slipped through the throngs of people and made his way over to where Fred was lying, half-hidden in a corner. He sat down, cradled his brother's head in his lap, and waited, listening to Voldemort's and Harry's exchange, hoping beyond hope that there was some way out of this, some way to defeat the Dark Lord…

And then George heard the yells of _"AVADA KEDAVRA" _and "_EXPELLIARMUS!" _He saw the wand fly out of Voldemort's hand, saw his astonished look and then, Voldemort fell, as if in slow-motion, down, down, down, until he crashed to the floor in a lifeless, soulless pile.

There was a moment of incredible, awed silence, and then the screams and roars of triumph and happiness were deafening. They reverberated throughout the hall, loud and echoing, until George couldn't hear anything but a lot of noise.

George sat in the corner of the Hall, watching the students and teachers and family mobbing Harry, cheering for him. He touched his brother's still-warm forehead and whispered hoarsely, "We've done it, Fred." And then, as the shouts and screams got louder, and the Great Hall was filled with elation, George put his head down to his twin's lifeless chest and wept.


	2. Chapter 1: Letting Go

-1Chapter 1: Letting Go

The bottle of firewhisky dropped from George Weasley's hand and he stumbled through the doorway to his flat, nearly tripping over the piles of clothing and paper stacked near the doorway. He swiped a hand across his face as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The apartment was a complete and utter mess. There were heaps of clothing strewn across the floor, the beds, the countertops, and the dressers. The door to one closet was opened and piles of old quills, broken Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes items, and other unidentifiable items were spilling out. The carpet was stained and dirty, and dozens of empty bottles of Ogden's Firewhisky were scattered throughout the place.

George hobbled across the filthy room and crashed on top of a bed. It took him a second to realize that it was Fred's bed that he was laying across, and the thought repulsed him. He jumped up, head spinning and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes to keep the tears that always threatened to come when he thought of Fred.

"Mr. Weasley?"

George looked up and was startled to see a small witch with short blonde hair and big blue eyes standing in his doorway. He blinked a few times, trying to place her. The light from the hallway was blinding.

"Verity." He mumbled, the name of his and Fred's assistant finally coming to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Verity stepped inside. The light grew more intense and George flung an arm across his eyes.

"Close the damn door!" he rasped, and Verity complied without saying a word. George closed his eyes and took a step backwards.

That was a mistake. He had meant to sit down in the chair behind him, but had misjudged the distance. Instead, he fell with a crash down onto the dirty floor. Startled, he blinked a couple more times.

Verity knelt beside him. "George." she said, her tone none too soft. George winced. "Too loud." he muttered.

"I don't care. George, get up." She took his arm in her hand and tugged gently. "Get up."

He was too tired and had too much of a headache to argue. He allowed her to pull him to his feet and then walk him over to the chair, where he collapsed. Verity crouched beside him and pulled his hand down from his face.

"George," she said softly. "You have to snap out of this."

"Snap out of _what,_ Verity?" he said grumpily, wishing she would leave. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you're drunk. George, look at me."

"I'm _not_ drunk." he said, ignoring the last part of her sentence. "I'm _not."_

Verity scoffed. "George, you are drunker than that time when you and Fred first opened-"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT HIM!" George roared, just the sound of his name cutting into his heart. "Don't…say his name."

Verity glared at him angrily. "I'll say his name any time I damned well want to, George Weasley. He was my friend too."

"YOU WEREN'T HIS TWIN!" George hadn't remembered leaping to his feet, but suddenly he was standing, fury pulsing through his veins. "YOU DIDN'T SEEM HIM DEAD! DON'T YOU _DARE _PRESUME THAT YOU WERE AS CLOSE TO HIM AS I WAS!"

Verity was also standing. Her eyes were filled with anger, but also sorrow and just the tiniest bit of fear. _Fear? _thought George dully. What did Verity have to be afraid of? Voldemort was dead and gone, never to return again. So what was it that she was fearful for?  
"Fred was a wonderful person," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "But George, he died almost two weeks ago. You have to learn to let go."

"I DON'T WANT TO LET GO!" George grabbed the nearest object, an empty butterbeer bottle, and threw it across the room with all his strength. It hit the far wall and exploded in a shower of glass and remaining drops of butterbeer. He grabbed more and threw them as well, his words punctuating between each throw. "I-DON'T-WANT-TO-LET-GO! Don't you _understand?!_ I _can't _let go!" Hot tears scalded George's face and ran unchecked down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily.

Verity was trembling. She had backed away rapidly at George's first throw and was now all the way to the door. Pausing, she turned and looked at the man that stood before her. "Let go, George." she said softly, before disappearing.

George sank down in the chair again, his strength depleted, and closed his eyes again. His head was pounding, thanks to that little outburst, and now he felt worse than ever. Guilt and shame fled through his mind. He knew that Verity was right, knew that he should let go of Fred. But he just _couldn't. _Fred was too much a part of him, had always been the other half of him. They had never been separated for more than a few hours at most. All the while they had split up while escorting Harry to his safe house at the beginning of the previous year, George had worried constantly about whether Fred was safe. He had never felt such relief when he was lying on that bed, head bleeding, and heard his twin's voice asking what had happened to him.

It was comparable to losing half of his soul. Fred was in George's mind, and George was in Fred's. Ever since they had been born, it had been like that. They knew each other's thoughts, could finish each other's sentences, could feel what the other was feeling. Whenever they did things, they did things together; took the same classes, had the same position on the Quidditch team, came up with the same pranks.

Now, George was alone. He was only half of himself. And he didn't know how to handle the feeling of emptiness that was always around him.

"…George?"

The hesitant voice from the doorway was familiar and had an odd sense of comfort. George opened his eyes and found his younger sister, Ginny standing in the doorway, along with her newly reinstated boyfriend, Harry Potter. She looked in cautiously, and involuntarily wrinkled her nose at the smell. "May we come in?" she asked, looking as if she was going to come in anyway, whether he let her or not.

"Er, yeah…sure. Of course." George started to stand up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him and he sank back down, instead waving a hand at them. "Come in."

Looking relieved, Harry and Ginny stepped in, Ginny going straight over to George. "Are you drunk?" she asked bluntly.

"No!" George started to protest, then realized that no matter what he said, she'd know right away if he was lying. "…Maybe." he said sullenly. "Not really."

"Can you even stand?" she said disgustedly, putting her hands on her hips. George thought she looked (and sounded) rather like his mother at the moment. He tried to stand, then shook his head. Ginny sighed.

"Harry, come give me a hand." she said, and together, the two of them grabbed George under his arms and yanked him upright.

He swayed unsteadily on his feet. Harry slipped his arm around his waist to keep him from falling back over.

"This way," he said, nodding towards the direction of the bed, which Ginny was in the process of clearing off. She nodded at Harry, and with a wave of his wand, Harry sent everything on the bed, including the sheets, off onto the floor. He gave another flick and sheets flew out of the closet and neatly arranged themselves on the now cleared off bed. Ginny tossed a bunch of pillows on the bed and then Harry sent a clean blanket to spread itself out above them.

He was still supporting George, who had deemed Harry an easy resting spot and was now leaning his full weight against Harry's shoulder. Harry staggered.

"George, keep awake for thirty more seconds, will ya?" he said, and George nodded, although his eyelids were feeling quite heavy. Harry led him over to the bed and all but threw him on it.

George curled up beneath the sheets and Ginny pulled the blanket over him in a very motherly fashion. He had never before appreciated his sister as much as he did right now.

"Gin…" he mumbled blearily, struggling to keep awake. "Ginny."

"Yeah, George?" she said, looking his direction.

"Thanks…" the rest was cut off as George fell into a hard slumber, his dreams clouded with memories of Fred.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George woke with a start, feeling as if his head was on fire. He groaned, running a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair.

"Oh, you're awake."

George looked over and blinked, seeing Ginny sitting sideways on his couch, her legs propped up in Harry's lap. They both had books in their hands.

"What're you still doing here…?" George mumbled incoherently.

"Taking care of you." Ginny responded in a very matter-of-fact way. "Mum is in too bad of shape to help you, but she's got Dad, so I'm not too worried. You, however, live here by yourself, and have no one to keep you from turning the place into a complete pigsty. And getting drunk every night doesn't help." she added with a glare in his direction.

George didn't answer. He sat up slowly, holding a hand to his head. It was then that he realized that his apartment was sparkling clean. All the clothes and heaps of trash had

disappeared, the dishes washed and put away, the countertops cleaned off and shining, and the closet doors shut. The carpet had even been rid of its stains and was as clean and white as it had been when the twins had first bought the premises.

"It was mostly Harry." Ginny said, noticing his gaze. "I figure I'm allowed to use magic, since the ministry is still mostly in ruins and they probably wouldn't be bothered with a bit of underage magic. But Harry said we better not take the chance, even if Kingsley HAS been appointed Minister of Magic."

Harry patted her leg. "Not everyone is willing to cut us some slack."

She snorted. "Even if she _is_ the girlfriend of the boy who killed Lord Voldemort and saved the entire world? I think they could make an exception."

George wasn't paying attention anymore. He was staring dismally across the room at the empty bed across from him. The covers were still thrown back as if Fred had just gotten up and went downstairs to open the shop.

"What…" he said, tearing his gaze away. "-time is it? How long did I sleep?" His head was pounding.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon." Ginny said. "You slept for about twenty-one hours."

"Merlin's beard…" George mumbled. "Twenty-one hours?"

Ginny reached over and looked at Harry's watch again. "Well, we better get going. We wanted to wait for you to wake up before we left, but Ron and Hermione are waiting for us at the Burrow."

They stood up and walked towards the door. At the last second, Ginny turned back. "Please get better, George." she said softly. "I know…I know you miss him. I do too. An awful lot. But George, I hate seeing you like this."

All the fight and anger from earlier had long since left George and he just nodded dully. "I know, Gin, I know."

She nodded and walked out, Harry murmuring a quiet "G'bye, George." And then George was back to being all alone.

He didn't get out of bed. Instead, he hunched himself deeper beneath the covers of his bed and tried to pretend that the past two weeks had all been some horrible nightmare that he was going to wake up from soon.

Fred's funeral had been the worst. His family had arranged a small, separate service after the massive funeral held for the fifty-three students and thirteen aurors and teachers that were killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, as it was commonly beginning to be known. George had sat stonily throughout the service, oblivious to anyone else, nodding numbly at the sympathies and condolences of everyone, but not really hearing anything anyone was saying. It was his brother, Percy, that had broken down in front of everyone, and Bill, tough Bill, who had collapsed in sobs during his speech. George had spoken his eulogy with his usual flair and flashing smiles, trying to keep the mood light, and the remembrance of Fred the same. It had worked, for the most part, and most of his friends and teachers got that he was trying in his own, desperate way to keep Fred with them, to keep his humor and his.

After the funeral, there had been a flurry of actions taken. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed temporary Minister of Magic, and Percy, his personal secretary. Mr. Weasley was promoted several stations up to become Head of Magical Cooperation, and Bill was working for him.

Kingsley had awarded Harry two awards for Special Services to the School, three Order of Merlins, first class, and a place on his staff, but Harry had refused that last one. He still wanted time to think, to process everything. He had returned to Ginny's side, however, and was rarely seen away from her.

Ron had been different. He had sunk into a depression afterwards. He had also received awards, but the deaths of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks had deeply affected him. For almost a week and a half, he had refused to come out of his room, until the girl he had been madly in love with for years had finally shaken him out of his stupor. Hermione Granger knew what she was doing when it came to Ron, and she had flat-out refused to let anything happen to him. He remembered a time when Hermione had threatened to call Mrs. Weasley after Fred and George were using Gryffindor students to test out their latest products.

George tried desperately to block out the thoughts of Fred that were starting to push their way to the front, but once started, the flow wouldn't stop. Memories of Fred rushed through his mind like a waterfall cascading down a mountain. Fred, their first year, and only their second day, getting into trouble with Argus Filch already; Fred, learning that he and George were going to be the Gryffindor Quidditch team Beaters; Fred and he, huddled in their shared room at the Burrow, concocting Ten-Ton-Tongue Toffee recipes; Fred and George, arguing with Ludo Bagman over his cheap tricks and cheats after the Quidditch World Cup; Fred and George, flying through the halls of Hogwarts on their broomsticks, setting off none-explodable fireworks, wreaking havoc, and breaking through the ceiling to soar off to the sky above; Fred, learning that he and George had finally earned enough money to complete their dream of opening their own shop.

Tears dripped down his nose and landed on the red sheets before George realized that he was crying again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The shop hadn't opened for almost a year. After having had to go into hiding, Fred and George had continued with a mail-order system, but the store had had to be closed for the time. George didn't have the energy, nor the heart, to reopen the shop. He wondered fleetingly how much it would sell for.

Then he was both ashamed and angry with himself. This store had been Fred's dream, _his _dream. It was what they had both been passionate about since their first year at Hogwarts. He wasn't going to sell it; not to anybody, no matter what the price they offered. But opening it again without Fred by his side, cracking jokes…the thought was almost too much to bear.

George rolled out of bed and almost passed out, the pain in his head was so great. He wished he had had something to get rid of the immense hangover. How many bottles of firewhisky had he had last night, anyway? Ten…twenty? After Harry and Ginny had left, he had lain in bed for a good six more hours.

He wandered over to his closet and pulled it open. Ginny and Harry had hung all of his clothes back up and folded everything else. He briefly glanced at the neon-green dragonskin coat that he and Fred had bought together when they had first opened. George leaned against the door to the closet, suddenly feeling as old and feeble as a one hundred year old man.

He extracted from the closet something nondescript: a plain black shirt and jeans. He left his wizarding robes where they were in a heap on the floor and slipped on his trainers. Picking up his wand from the bedside table and stuffing it into his pocket, George looked around the small, tidy flat once more before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind him.


	3. Chapter 2: Incomprehensible Mind

-1Chapter Two: Incomprehensible Mind

George had no idea where he was going. As he trundled down the small, enclosed staircase that led into the shop's main area, he just wanted to get out of this place of memories, away from thoughts of Fred.

The shop was almost eerie at night. The moon's soft rays of light filtered in through the spacious front window and trickled in, casting dark shadows on the miscellaneous objects stacked haphazardly on the shelves. George closed his eyes and fumbled his way through the dark, not wanting to see any of the things he and Fred had prized most.

He reached the doorway with little trouble, and stumbled through it, locking it behind him. Then he leaned back against it, eyes still closed, breathing labored. How he was going to get past the sense of overwhelming agony was still a mystery. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do it.

George opened his eyes and began walking down the empty street, hands shoved in his pockets. His mother would have a cow if she had known he was out this late at night by himself, but in the current situation, George had no one to depend on anymore. Sure, he had his family, but that was nothing compared to having Fred with him.

George ambled down the street, head down. Every once in a while, he heard a voice speak, or heard a little laughter. Ever since Harry had defeated Voldemort, the tension and fear that had been forced upon the wizarding community had disappeared rapidly. Now there were people back in Diagon Alley, stores were opening again, and people had begun to trust again. The Dark Lord had been defeated for good this time; not just temporarily, and people knew it. They had nothing to fear anymore.

As for George Weasley…he had everything to fear.

He still was unsure of where he was going and was about to sit down when a voice called "George."

Turning, he saw Verity jogging lightly down the street towards him. He paused, feeling a dull flush rise in his cheeks as he remembered how he had treated her the previous day.

"Verity." He said as she approached. "I-"

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "It's okay, George, I know you were drunk and not yourself. I forgive you."

He felt ashamed at himself. "I'm sorry." he said anyways, needing to say the words. Verity must have understood, because she just nodded and fell into step beside him.

They didn't speak for a few moments. Then Verity, tilting her head to look up at him, she said cautiously, "How are you feeling?"

George sighed. "Terrible. But, probably not as bad as I look. Or smell." he said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"How's your ear?"

He had almost forgotten that he was missing an ear. Verity was walking on the side where he could hear her, so it hadn't been brought to his attention. Now he realized that he had a dull, throbbing pain on the other side of his head.

"Hurts a little." He admitted reluctantly.

She glanced up at him again. "Is it okay for you to be out right now?"

George was slightly annoyed. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Verity had always had a habit of fussing like a mother hen. She usually had a no-nonsense personality when it came down to business, but when it came to the twins, she had always been fussy.

Fred and George hadn't known Verity before opening their shop. She hadn't gone to Hogwarts at the same time, instead graduating two years prior to the twins. They had placed an ad in the _Daily_ Prophet, asking for "an intelligent, hard-working (preferably young, cute, and female) witch or wizard to manage sales for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes." Verity Callum had answered the ad. She had breezed in the doorway one day, picked up a pair of magenta robes that the twins were holding, and said "I'm Verity, your new assistant."

After this ringing proclamation, Fred and George had looked at each other than grinned and turned back to Verity. "You're hired." they had said in unison.

Verity had smiled and then changed into the magenta work robes. Fred had seemed to instantly take a liking to her, although it was hard to tell, considering Fred and George seemed to take a liking to anything pretty, nice, and female. But Verity was unlike any other witch they had known. She was attractive, in her own way, with short, cropped white-blonde hair, luminous blue eyes and a dazzling smile. She tended to dress on the extravagant side, and had always had a knack for making great sales, especially with the male customers. However, in the storeroom, manning the register, and in business meetings, Verity had transformed herself into a respectable, no-nonsense young witch with a passion for good and a flair for charming everyone she came in contact with.

Now, as George looked balefully down at her, she met his gaze unblinkingly, her eyes filled with worry.

"George," she said, and he was surprised to hear a tone of hesitation in her voice. "George, do you want me to stay with you?"

He blinked and stopped walking. Out of all the things he had expected her say, this was not one of them. "I…er…what?" he said, wondering if he had misheard her somehow.

She didn't break eye contact. "I said, do you want me to stay with you?"

"I…" For one of the first times in his life, George was at a loss for words. "Why?"

"Because you obviously can't manage on your own." she said, a determined expression on her face. "I can help keep you sober, get things in order and help reopen the shop."

The momentary astonishment that had come dissipated as rapidly as it had come. "I'm not going to reopen the shop." he said roughly, turning away from her.

"Don't be stupid." she said. "Of course you are."

He didn't have the energy to answer. "There's no where for you to sleep." he mumbled, not wanting her to sleep in Fred's bed.

"Then, George, how about you come and stay with me?"

He blinked again. "What?"

She all but threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "George, you need to be around _people. _You need to have human contact. I can't let you rot away in that apartment all by yourself, moping."

George felt anger stirring inside._ "Moping?" _he said incredulously. _"That's_ what you call losing your twin brother, your best friend? _Moping?"_

"You know what I mean, George Weasley." Verity wasn't backing off. "You're staying with me, and that's final."

Without waiting for a response, she suddenly grasped his arm. He felt her turn beside him, and then they were being sucked into darkness and an all-encompassing thickness as if he were being suffocated slowly.

Then, just as quickly, they were sucked back to normal space and Verity released her hold of George's arm.

"Damn it, Verity!" George swore, anger riling on his nerves. "You didn't have to Disapparate right then and there! Who said I was going to come and stay with you, anyway?"

"I did, and don't argue." Verity walked away, leaving George to stew in his anger.

He glanced around. Verity's place was small, cozy, with flickering candles that sat floating around the perimeter of the room. Pushed against one wall was what looked like a dragonskin couch, with several throw pillows tossed carelessly on it. A towering bookshelf was on the other wall, stuffed to the breaking point with spell books, papers, and quills. Off of the crowded living room, there was a small kitchen. Gleaming pots and pans hung from a rack above the sink, and everything was neatly arranged and put away. He could see two doorways, one on either side of the kitchen. Kitty-corner to the bookshelf was an unlit fireplace, several framed photographs placed carefully on the mantel.

"That's my room." Verity said, pointing to the door on the left, as she whipped her wand around. A tea kettle filled with water soared to the stovetop, which turned itself on. "And that's my office, which," she said with a glance back at him. "-by the way, you are not allowed in."

"So, where am I sleeping?" George asked, still unsure of why he wasn't storming out right now.

She gestured at the green couch. "Right there. You can probably transfigure it into a pretty comfortable bed."

He opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Verity beat him to it. "Tomorrow we'll go and get your clothes." she added a dab of cinnamon to the tea boiling on the stove and then turned off the fire. "Tea?"

"Er…yes…please." Realizing that he might as well give in to the inevitable, George sank slowly down on the couch. It was actually rather comfortable. He put his head down and ran his hands through his red hair, which was getting quite long, having not cut it for several months.

"Here." Verity leaned down and handed George a steaming cup of tea. He breathed in the familiar, sweet smell before taking a small sip.

"I'm going to bed now." Verity said as she took a drink. "I have to get up early tomorrow. You can do what you like; just don't destroy anything, please."

George nodded his understanding, and Verity whirled away, her bottle-green robes swirling. Just as she was about to disappear, George called out "Ver?"

She stopped, a hand on the doorframe. He hadn't called her that for months. "Yes, George." she said, half her face in shadow.

The words seemed to be stuck in his throat. After a second of clearing his throat, he said quietly "Thanks."

Verity looked at him, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. A soft smile appeared on her tired face and she nodded. "You're welcome, George." And then she had gone into her room and shut the door.

George rested his head back against the couch. It was odd, at this time of night, not being with Fred, toasting their success at the nearest bar, or out strolling Diagon Alley, yelling hellos to all of its patrons and visitors.

After a few moments, George put his empty cup on the side table and stood up. Waving his wand, he quickly transfigured the couch into a semi-okay looking bed, complete with clean sheets and pillows.

Stripping off his sweaty shirt, he threw it in a pile on the floor before crawling into the bed, wearing only his jeans. He would have preferred to have his pajamas, but that would have to wait until the morning.

He lay there, beneath the covers, wondering why it had come to this. Why it had come to George, unbearably depressed and hurting, staying at someone else's house instead of having to deal with the memories in the other apartment. And it came, once again, as it had every other night, the question of _why. _Why did Fred have to die? Why couldn't he, George, have died instead?

It made no difference. George felt like most of him had died anyway, the day he had seen Fred's body sprawled lifelessly on the cold stone floor of Hogwarts Castle.

George pulled the soft blankets up over him and closed his eyes, wishing, as he had wished almost every single moment for the past two weeks, that Fred was still alive.


	4. Chapter 3: Accomplishments

-1Chapter Three: Accomplishments

George didn't dream. He hadn't dreamed since the night Fred died. Instead he had nightmares. Terrible, awful, intense nightmares filled with all sorts of unimaginable horrors. He writhed beneath the blankets, clutching his head, seeing over and over again Fred's eyes staring up at him, seeing nothing but anger in Fred's face as he demanded _"Why did you let me die, George? You could have saved me, but you let me die! YOU LET ME DIE!"  
_"George! _George!"_

George snapped awake, gasping. Verity wasleaning over him in her nightdress, one small, warm hand touching his bare shoulder.

"George, it's okay." she said firmly, but gently. "You were having a bad dream, that's it."

Without thinking about it, George sat up and threw his arms around Verity, heaving sobs into her shoulder. She didn't hesitate or draw away, but instead put her arms around his trembling body.

Her warmth was comforting, as well as the soothing sound of her voice, telling him that it was all right.

"Was it about…Fred..?" Verity asked, very quietly, and George, still unable to speak, nodded against her. She resumed her comforting, stroking his hair. "It was just a bad dream." she murmured. "Just a bad dream. You hear me, George? Nothing but a dream."

It was a nice feeling, having someone to depend on. George hadn't had anyone to lean on since Fred had died, and sitting here, in the circle of Verity's arms, hearing her soft voice…it was strange and familiar at the same time.

After a few, long moments, he began to calm down. When he was able to stop crying, he pulled back away from her. She didn't protest, dropping her arms and sitting back on her legs.

"Are you all right now?" she asked gently. George nodded, pushing his sweat-soaked hair back from his face.

"I'm fine." he said. "You're right, it was just a bad dream."

Verity nodded and stood up. "I'm going back to sleep. Call me if you need anything."

She disappeared back into her bedroom and George let out a deep sigh, falling back onto his pillows. Within moments, he was back asleep, this time falling into a deep and dreamless sleep once more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the morning Verity fixed breakfast without saying anything. She placed a plate of sausages, eggs, and ham in front of him, as well as a glass of orange juice, and that sat down across from him, shaking open the _Daily Prophet_. They both ate in silence, the only sounds of forks clicking against plates and papers rustling as Verity turned the pages.

"Why did you have to get up this early?" George asked, unable to bear the silence for any longer.

She didn't look at him, merely turned another page of the _Prophet. _"I have some things to do."

"Oh." He felt a little put out. "Well, er…"

Verity glanced at him from behind her paper. "You don't have to come. I've arranged for someone to come and stay with you."

George felt his face grow red. "I don't need a babysitter!" he said hotly, embarrassment evident on his face.

"I know. And he's not a babysitter." Finished with her breakfast, Verity stood and tossed the newspaper on the table, then sending her dishes flying into the sink with a small crash. "He'll be here in ten minutes. I have to go."

George stood as well, confused and somewhat annoyed. "You're…you're not going to tell me where you're going?"

A small smile crossed her face. "No, not at the moment, George. But I will sooner or later. When I get back, we can go back to your flat and get your things. And no drinking."

She turned where she was standing and Disapparated with a loud crack. George stood there stupidly for a moment, wondering what he was supposed to do until this mysterious guest arrived.

He decided on looking for a drink. It was early in the morning, but it was never to early for a nice glass of Ogden's Firewhisky. He didn't care what Verity had said. It had only confirmed what he had hoped-that she _had_ drinks in the apartment.

George first opened all the top cupboards. When he found nothing but dishes, he searched in the fridge. Then, dropping to his knees, he began examining all the cupboards underneath the sink.

"Oy. What are you doing?"

George banged his head on the top of the shelf. The all-too familiar voice suddenly coming from nowhere startled him into trying to get up too fast. Rubbing the top of his now sore head, George turned around. "Merlin's beard, Wood, don't scare me like that. How did you get in without me hearing you?"

Oliver Wood smiled crookedly, tilting his head to the side, arms folded across his chest. "Well, wha' else was I supposed ta do? Wait until ya turned around, _then _scared you? I chose tha' more entertainin' way. And I did it by Apparatin' downstairs instead o' up here."

Just Oliver's presence and his voice, inlaid with that familiar Scottish lilt, brought back a rush of memories to George, back when he and Fred had first started off on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes, pretending he was rubbing sleep from them.

Oliver was too smart to be fooled. "How're you doin', George?" he asked softly. "I know it hasn't been tha' long since…well, you know."

George nodded, and turned back to his search for something to drink. "Merlin, I need a drink." he muttered to himself. He scrounged around, and finally, stuffed and hidden behind a bunch of boxes of pasta, he found a dusty bottle of firewhisky. Pulling it out triumphantly, he touched the tip of his wand to the cork, which flew off. Without bothering with a cup, George tipped the bottle up to his mouth and took a long swallow.

The firewhisky scalded down his throat, burning away the rising feelings and emotions. He set down the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to face Oliver again. He gestured to the firewhisky. "Drink?"

Oliver didn't move. "No thanks."

George shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took another long gulp and then started searching for another bottle.

"What're you doin', George?" Wood said softly from the doorway.

George stopped moving. "What do you mean?" He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"You know what I mean." Oliver's voice was low, cold. It was the same tone he had taken when he was giving speeches to the team after a particularly brutal match. "This isn't like you, George."

George turned his back on his former captain. "You don't know me, Wood." he said, his voice roughened by the firewhisky.

"I know ye damn well enough, George Weasley," Oliver snapped, eyes flashing.

"-and if Fred weren't dead, then you wouldn't be drinkin' like this."

"SHUT UP!" George roared, clutching the bottle so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "Shut up about Fred."

His voice had turned almost pleading. He tossed back another swallow of the firewhisky.

"George," Oliver said again, his tone more gentle. "I have known ye for a good number of years now. I hate seein' ya like this. I miss the old George. The George who didn't know what was good for 'im, the lively, carefree, 'I-don't-give-a-damn-what-anybody-else-says' George. The George who got on an effing broom after it had been confiscated by an effing ministry official and effing flew out of Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake. Although I wish I could have seen that." he added wistfully.

George set down the bottle of firewhisky and gripped the countertop with both hands. "You…don't understand." he said in a hollow voice. "Fred is…was…_everything_. He was my brother. My twin. My _best…" _To his horror, George's voice cracked with emotion. He grabbed up the bottle again and took another drink, turning around to face Oliver. His friend was still standing, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He didn't move, just watched George, his expression neutral.

George took a deep breath before continuing. "Oliver," he said in a small voice. "Oliver, I don't know if I can keep this up. I have _never _been without Fred. I haven't ever had to go through this before. We've never been separated for more than a few _hours _before. I-"

George stopped, emotion clogging his throat. "I…can't do this." he finished thickly.

Oliver uncrossed his arms and walked over to George, laying a hand on his shoulder. "George," he said. "Have ye talked ta Harry?"

George looked up. "Yeah, he and Ginny came over and helped me clean up my place."

"_Nae_, George. I mean, have ye talked to him about how you're feeling?"

A confused expression crossed George's face. "What…why would I talk to Harry?"

Oliver sighed exasperatedly. "Because, George, Harry has gone through the same thing, remember?"

George stared at Oliver. He had forgotten completely about Harry. Harry, who had lost both of his parents, his newly found godfather, and Remus Lupin, his last real connection to his parents and Sirius's lives.

"Harry…" he breathed, grabbing a hold of Oliver's shoulder to help him stand up straighter. _"Harry!"_

"Shall we call him now?" Oliver seemed very aware of George's desperate need to get control of the situation. George had always been in control of his life, down to the tiniest last detail. Then one single event had ripped that control away. He nodded fervently before letting go of Wood's shoulder and stumbling over to his still Transfigured bed, where he collapsed on it with a moan.

"Where is Harry staying?" George asked Oliver.

A strange look crossed over his friend's face. "At…the Burrow." he said slowly.

George's face reddened. He had been so out of contact with everyone, so wrapped up in his own feelings that he had not even taken the consideration to talk to his own family.

Oliver strolled over to the fireplace and pointed his wand at the bare logs. _"Incendio." _he muttered and instantly a roaring orange and green fire sprang up, crackling merrily in the dim flat, which didn't have many windows. From his cloak, Oliver pulled out a small leather pouch and extracted from it a pinch of glittering green powder. He tossed it into the fire, which instantly became emerald, and then leaned down. "I'd like ta speak with Harry Potter." he said clearly and firmly.

There was a rushing noise and George suddenly was looking into the kitchen of his own home. Seated at the worn kitchen table was an all-too familiar red-headed girl holding hands with a boy with untidy black hair and glasses. Across from them was another red-headed figure, this one a lanky young man. Next to him was a girl with bushy brown hair, her head down, her eyes focused on a sheet of paper on the table. She tapped a quill absentmindedly against her cheek as she thought.

"Harry." Wood said. At the sound of his name, Harry started and whipped around in his seat. A broad smile crossed his features.

"Oliver!" he exclaimed, letting go of Ginny's hand to drop to his knees beside the fireplace. "Wow…well, this certainly is a surprise!"

The other three clambered next to him. "Hullo, Wood!" Ron's freckled face was grinning. "What're you dropping in for? Need a little help with something? Advice maybe?"

"Ron, shut it." Hermione Granger gently pushed him aside. "Hello, Oliver." she said. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank ye Hermione. But it's Harry I'm needin' ta speak with." Oliver turned to face the young man. "George needs your help." he said simply.

There was silence in the kitchen, and back in the flat. George had fallen back against the couch, one arm flung across his eyes, the beginnings of another headache stirring in his mind.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry all stared back at Oliver. It was Ron that spoke first.

"What's wrong with my brother?" he asked worriedly. "Did something happen to him? Why does he need Harry?"

"He needs Harry," Oliver said, his gaze unwavering from the glittering green eyes.

"-because Harry knows what he's going through."

At this, Hermione let out a slow breath, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, Oliver…" she said softly. "Is he…"

Oliver glanced over at George, who didn't look at him, then turned back to Hermione. "He needs Harry." he said again. "Harry, do ye think ye can Apparate here right now? We're not at the twins' apartment. We're at 16th street, Diagon Alley."

"Of course!" Harry said, standing up quickly. "I'm on my way."

"Thanks. See ya in a few." Oliver pulled back from the fireplace and the flames reverted back to their original scarlet and orange colours.

"You didn't have to make it sound like I'm half-dead or something." George said, then instantly regretted it when he saw Wood's expression.

"George…" he said quietly. "Without Fred, and the way yer goin', you seem like yer dyin' inside already."

Before George could respond to this, there was a loud crack from outside. Oliver swept out of the room and went to let Harry in. Moments later, they appeared, Harry looking slightly flustered.

"Where is this?" he asked as he strode in.

"My assistant's flat." George said dully. "Verity Callum."

"Oh yes," Harry said, squinting slightly. "Yes, I remember her from when I first came to your shop. The one with the blonde hair, right?"

"That's her."

"I think I'll leave the two of ya alone for a little while, shall I? I will be in the kitchen." Tactfully, Oliver slipped out of the room and then conjured a heavy cloth partition to block himself off from the living room.

There was silence for a few moments as Harry stood there, and George lay on his bed.

When Harry spoke, it was gently, without any condescension in it. "Do you want to talk?"

George didn't move his arm from his face, but answered, his voice slightly muffled. "I can't live without him, Harry." he said simply, and to his astonishment, it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Just saying those few words had been like relieving a heavy burden. Hot, salty tears slid down his face. "Fred was like the other half of my soul. He _is _the other half of my soul. We are two parts of the same puzzle." And a puzzle it certainly was.

Silently, Harry Summoned a chair over and pulled it next to the bed. He sat down and rested his hands in his lap, his fingers twirling his old, familiar wand between them.

"I can't…I can't pretend that I know what you're going through, George." he said quietly. "I never had a twin. But I had Sirius. After finding out about Sirius, it was like…it was as if something had just clicked into place in my life. As if I had found the solution to becoming happy."

George, without opening his eyes, heard the emotions in Harry's voice. The elation, the despair, the overwhelming sadness all at once. He remembered the joyful expression on Harry's face when he had seen Sirius for the first time in a few months, when they had all met at number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the Order of the Phoenix. Remembered the happiness and contentment that had been there between them.

"When Sirius died…" Harry paused, finding it hard to speak. "I…I wanted to give up. I wanted to just curl up in a ball and hide in my bed for the rest of my life. It was…some of the worst times of my life. I don't ever remember feeling that horrible.

"It was the same feeling I had when Remus died. I…felt as if my whole world had suddenly collapsed around me, and I was just pinned beneath the wreckage. Remus Lupin was my last connection to my parents past; the last link to Sirius. Without him, I felt as if their memories would slowly fade into nothingness and I would be left alone."

George almost felt the raw pain in Harry's voice. He was describing exactly as George felt, which was almost shocking. He hadn't thought anyone, even Harry, could accurately describe what he was feeling.

George swiped at his eyes and sat up slowly. "How did you get out of it?" he asked. "I feel…I feel as if I'm drowning, and the water is too deep, and I'm already stuck beneath the surface. I feel as if nothing anyone can do can pull me out of this mess. Harry," George said hoarsely. "I feel as if part of me is _missing. _And that I can't get that part back."

Harry looked at him, and George was suddenly struck at how much older Harry seemed. How much more mature, how much _wiser. _The scrawny, messy-haired teenager he had first met at a train station in England nearly seven years ago had grown up into a heroic, widely-renowned, intensely intelligent young man.

When had he become so old, George wondered. He was twenty years old, and felt like three times that. Harry was only seventeen. Seventeen years old, and had already defeated the most hated and feared dark wizard of all time; not once, but seven separate times. He had saved not only the wizarding world, but all of the Muggle world as well. And he had willingly sacrificed himself to Lord Voldemort, just to protect his friends from destruction. After that, he had worked constantly with the Ministry of Magic to rebuild what had been lost.

And George had sat, cowardly, repulsive, in his flat, crying and depressed.

Harry was looking at him with a kindness that George did not deserve. "I didn't get past it, George. Every day I blame myself for Sirius' and Lupin's deaths. Every day, I wish that they were still alive, that they were still here, that they are going to jump out from a corner any moment and yell 'surprise!' Did Ron ever tell you how much I tried to convince myself that Sirius wasn't dead?"

When George shook his head, Harry gave him a rather wry smile. "At first, I still had the twin mirrors that Sirius had given me, to communicate. When I tried over and over again to contact him, and nothing worked, I stowed the mirror away, out of sight. Then, I all but corned Nearly Headless Nick and begged him to tell me how ghosts were made. I was sure that Sirius would have chosen that route."

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. When he spoke again, it was with fervency, his green-eyed gaze hard.

"George," he said firmly. "George, you _must not_ let it overcome you. When you succumb to the pain and anguish it will _only _become worse, and in the end, it will be you that cannot be helped."

George was stunned at the intensity of Harry's voice. He stared at his younger brother's best friend, eyes wide.

"Sinking into fits of depression…" Harry's fists were clenched at his side. "George, I have _been _through that, and I regret every single moment of it. With depression and grief this horrible also comes anger, a terrible anger. You cannot let that happen, George Weasley. You are stronger than that. I know you well enough to know that."

And as George sat there, staring into the eyes of the person who had conquered Voldemort, he suddenly felt defeated. Leaning forward and putting his head into his hands, he felt, once again, the overwhelming sobs and frustration overtaking him.

There was a loud crack, but George didn't look up. He could tell who it was anyway, from the smell of light perfume that wafted around him and the gentle hands that touched his. He felt, rather than heard, Harry stand up and move and then someone else took his seat. George fell forward into Verity's lap, unable to suppress the shudders that racked his body.

Dimly, he was aware of Harry moving into the kitchen to speak with Oliver. He didn't know how long he cried, but it was different than all the other times he had cried. This time was as if he were letting go of everything he had held in, everything that he had hidden away, tucked deep into his heart.

After a long time, he heard Harry's voice as if from far away.

"Goodbye, George." he said quietly. "I wish you the best." and with that he Disapparated.

Oliver was next. He laid a hand on George's still shaking shoulder and said "Good luck, George." and then he too, Disapparated.

George sat with his head cradled in his hands, Verity's soothing arms around him, for a few moments longer before sitting up. She smiled slightly at him, and George was suddenly struck at how beautiful she was.

"Are you hungry?" she said softly. "It's almost lunchtime."

Without knowing exactly what he was doing, George leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Verity's for a brief moment.

She didn't break away, and when he leaned back again she smiled again and stood up. "Hungry?" she asked again.

George didn't know what had possessed him to kiss her, but now he looked up at her, at her radiance and brilliance, at her grace and intelligence and kindness. And with a jolt, George realized just how very lucky he was.

"Ver…" he said hoarsely. "Verity…I…thank you."

She reached out a small hand and gently touched his cheek. "George Weasley," she said softly. "I think you will be all right."

She stepped away, letting her hand drop, and then disappeared into the kitchen. George stood, stretching out his sore, aching limbs and walked over to the fireplace. He looked briefly at the photographs, intending to just glance at them, but one photo, placed in a dominant position in front of all the rest, caught his eye.

He picked up the photograph. Laughing and waving up at him was Fred. Next to him stood George. They were standing in front of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes on its opening day. Their arms were slung around each other, both grinning broadly, fireworks and explosions and bright colored things whirling and spinning around in the background.

Sitting on the front steps, her chin in her hand, was Verity. She was looking up at the twins, not with an expression of disgust or exasperation, but with an expression of contentment. As if she were truly happy.

A thick teardrop landed on the glass pane covering the photograph. George looked down at his twin brother, his other half, his favorite person in the world, and smiled.


	5. Chapter 4: Epilogue

-1Epilogue

"You owe me six galleons, eleven sickles, and twelve knuts."

"Awwww, George! I'm your brother!" Ron protested, trying to juggle the many miscellaneous items he had piled in his arms. "Gimme a break!"

"No breaks. Pay up, or give it up." George flashed a wicked grin at Ron and held out his hand.

"Haven't we been through this argument before?" Harry asked, amused. "Like, sometime last year?"

"Time is galleons, little brother." George said, tapping his foot on the floor. "Come on."

"Fine." Ron huffed, forking over the money. "But you stink, you realize that?"

"Come on," Hermione said. "It's not like you don't have the money anymore."

"Yeah, after Kingsley paid us that nice amount for keeping track of Harry and keeping him safe after all these years, we have no need ever to get a job." Ron grinned again and poked at Hermione. "So, what about you? You buying anything?"

She looked around, apparently at a loss. "Er, well…I…erm…"

"It's okay, Hermione, you don't have to buy anything. However," George put on his best puppy-dog eyes look and clutched his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. "-after all, it's not like it's our grand reopening, or anything…"

Hermione actually giggled and then reached for a pygmy puff. "Oh, all right. I'll get one of these things."

"I have one of those." Ginny said brightly. "His name is Arnold. They're darned cute things, but you might have a hard time keeping him away from Crookshanks."

"Well, Crookshanks will just have to get over himself." Hermione responded airily. "This is the only thing I'd ever use, anyway…"

"Come on, Er-my-knee." Ron said, a mouthful of treacle tart in his mouth. "Shuffallof agus youffess-"

"Ewww, Ron!" Ginny squealed. "Stop talking with your mouth full, _please!"_

He swallowed. "Are you sure that's all you'd want, Hermione? There's tons of neat things, look, here's a U-Know-Poo left-"

"Thanks, but no thanks, Ron." Hermione said, barely suppressing a grin. "Come on, let's go talk to your mom." She grabbed his hand and pulled him away, and Ginny followed, leaving Harry alone with George.

Harry looked up at him. "Congratulations." he said. "You did it."

George felt a rush of pleasure. "I know." he replied softly. "And most of it is thanks to you."

The grand reopening of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was taking place almost a month after George's talk with Harry. Harry had been there every step of the way, offering advice and magical assistance.

"You were the one who chose to do it." Harry reminded him. "Without that, there would have been nothing."

"Spoken well." said a soft voice.

As it always had seemed to do lately, George's heart sped up just a tad bit. Verity stepped down the final staircase from the flat and walked over to George, smiling that wide smile of hers. "Hello, Harry." she said.

He let her kiss his cheek. "Hello, Verity. It's nice to see you again."

"And you as well."

Harry bade them farewell and went off in search of Ginny. George was left standing with Verity, the crowds of people milling around him seeming to shrink and fade away until it was just the two of them.

Without speaking, George reached out and took Verity's hand. She squeezed his fingers lightly. "How is it going?" she asked.

"Well, we've already made about a hundred galleons." George replied, the feelings of joy starting to overwhelm him. "So, I'd say it's going pretty well."

She turned her head and smiled up at him. "Good. I'm glad.

George looked over at the large, framed photograph hung high on the wall of the shop. The twins, grinning down at him, waving in front of their shop.

_Dedicated to Frederick Josiah Weasley_, it read. _For all of time and eternity._

A flicker of George's old, trademark smile flitted across his face, and as he stood there, his hand encompassing Verity's, his brother engrained in his heart, George Weasley knew that he would be all right.


End file.
